


Fiction

by earz_wide_open



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: norsekink, Gen, Just sayin', Loki Does What He Wants, Suicide, Torture, Ya might not wanna read this, this is seriously cray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earz_wide_open/pseuds/earz_wide_open
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the following prompt on norsekink:</p><p> <br/><i>"So many prompts I've seen involving Loki being punished for his crimes either have him accepting it as what he deserves or bursting into tears and begging for mercy very quickly. Let's shake things up a bit, shall we? :)</i></p><p> <i>Because, in his own head, Loki still believes that he was entirely in the right for everything he did from trying to destroy the Frost Giants to his acts in The Avengers film. He really believes that he would make a better king than Thor and humans should be ruled.</i></p><p> <i>So, when he's punished (by Odin? By SHIELD? Both? Don't mind, just go wild) he fights like an animal, trying to escape and avoid the punishment at every opportunity, screaming insults and threats, trying to mess with his captor's heads (God of Mischief, remember?) and laughing like the insane box of cats that he is."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Let's say this is directly post- _Avengers_. 
> 
> Post- _"I'll have that drink now"_ and pre-back-to-Asgard-Tessaract.

_Just give me a life to be_  
 _Another world outside that's full of_  
 _All the awful things that I've made._

-Deadmau5, "Professional Griefers"

 

At first, Thor had found it difficult to endorse the mouthpiece, but the sight of the dead guard's mangled face had eliminated any choice in the matter.

Through the trembling yellow light dancing off thick glass walls Thor could glimpse his estranged brother snapping, snarling, mouth casting off foam, spindly fingers yanking at the fabric of the simple penitentiary clothing they'd wrenched onto his haggard body.

Thor had watched the first force feeding and decided he wouldn't be able to bear watching it again. Long clear tubes snaking downward, propelled by deft latex-coated hands. Three penitentiary guards in white coats obscuring Loki's face from view. The only thing Thor could see was the violent twitching, the spasms of those bony digits beneath thick cowhide straps. The only things Thor could hear were muffled choking heaves.

Choking heaves, and strangled sputtering laughter.

* * *

The fluorescent lights in the prison shone a weak mustard color. They made the sound of a fly buzzing when they flickered. His eyes darted grey and bloodshot in sweat-slicked sockets. His vein-laced hands skittered like pale spiders over the orange prison scrubs.

There was blood under his fingernails from scratching at his white wrists under the cuffs, from clenching his fingertips into fists and breaking the skin of his palms, from lashing out and raking a thick chunk of skin from an unsuspecting guard's cheek.

There was bile on his breath. Between snarls he would occasionally retch and spew bloodied mucus onto the floor of his cell. Kept things exciting. Once he'd lunged at one of the guards who'd come to feed him and choked up acid and spit it into the guard's eyes. He'd licked his cracked lips as the guard had gone screaming. He'd wiped salt-laced froth from his chin and laughed – a dry, almost-cough of a chuckle.

That was all before the muzzle, of course.

Now he hung his head forward and let spittle ooze out of the scant space between the gunmetal and edge of his jaw.

He liked to play dead until one of the guards, dying of curiosity and not interested in losing his job, would enter the cell and quite literally poke him with a long metal pole.

After a few pokes he would shoot his hand out and grab the pole and thrust it wildly into the guard's face. The last guard to try it had lost an eye.

That was all before the straightjacket, of course.

Ensconced in metal and leather and canvas, he began to roll forward and backward on his heels, ever so slowly, and scream the most ghostly, unholy, agonized shrieks the guards had ever heard. The glass and titanium of his cell walls couldn't block out the wretched cries, and every guard finished his shift terrified, hollowed out by an inexplicable grief.

He was transferred to a completely soundproof cell after one of the guards on watch committed suicide in the observation room.

The other guard on duty that shift could've sworn Loki had winked at him as his colleague's milky brains slammed like soft shrapnel against the glass of the observation window.

* * *

He came to every Avenger in a nightmare the night after the guard's suicide.

 _You put me behind bars_ , he rasped to the corners of their slumbering minds, _because you wanted me to do no further harm to your 'precious Earth.' Such folly. Such unconscionable stupidity..._

_For I will kill again tomorrow. And the day after. And I will weep tears of blood, of the blood of those I have slain through sheer force of will. Their bodily fluids will scatter not only the floor of the very observation room from which they all complete their inane duties, but also the floor beneath the face of the very force they seek to contain. You cannot shut me away in padded cells and whitewashed rooms and truly believe that I will somehow feel remorse for the 'injustices' I have committed against you mortal freaks. I sought to purify your miserable planet, and this is how you repay me? Tut, tut. It is time you all learned the meaning of suffering._

_Do not expect to awake in the morning. If you find that your eyes do in fact open to witness the dawn of another day, you will owe a debt to me, for my incredibly unorthodox and arbitrary mercy._

_Oh– a small post scriptum... The 'jailhouse grits' your guards have been shoving into me through little flexible tubes has been a trifling annoyance compared to the hourly meals of scorching meteor coals held to my singed tongue by the Chitauri. Your 'force feedings' have in fact been quite scrumptious. Any struggling I've done has been purely... what do humans call it... Ah yes: 'theatrical.'_

_Fictional, one might say._

_Anyhow..._

_Enjoy the sunrise, if you happen to witness it again._

_Sincerely,_

_Your favorite would-be Midgardian King._


End file.
